


blur your eyes 'til you're floatin' like a butterfly

by kebab_skewer



Category: Friday Night Funkin' (Video Game), Pico's School (Video Game)
Genre: AIGHTIM SO SORRY THIS IS MY FIRST PUBLISHED FIC ON ANGST AS A FLUFF WRITER, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Break Up, DAMN PICO WE OUGHT TO GET YOU SOME THERAPY, Drinking, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Make Up, Marriage Proposal, My First Work in This Fandom, No Smut, OH NO I DIDNT EXPECT THERE TO BE ANGST???, Trauma, age up by like 2 or 3 years, boyfriend is simply called boyfriend, boyfriend just wants to do his silly little diys, break up make up, i did not proof read this im so sorry, i dunno where im goin with this, idk why but they messed around in gfs house, mentions of the school shooting in picos school, nor do i have consistency i apologise pico/bf stans, only fluff, same for gf, the only reason this is age up is cuz i forgot nineteen was undersge drinking, this fic did not go as planned, this is garbage I sincerely apologise to fnf and ninjamuffin and tom fulp and kawaisprite, tho the drinking stuff ends after the first part dw, what???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29001384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kebab_skewer/pseuds/kebab_skewer
Summary: Pico thinks,huh.It had, of course, smelled of Boyfriend. Soft citrus cologne invading his senses. The cologne he had not-so-sneakily bought when Pico wasn't looking when they were out getting food.Maybe if he were less drunk and pathetic, he would've left right then and there.Perhaps if he were to consider the consequences and been in a lighter state of mind, he wouldn't have stolen an old white T-shirt from Boyfriend's messy closet and shoved it into his rucksack.Pico steals a shirt. Boyfriend accidentally proposes while trying to apologise.In which boys finally ask questions and get some answers.
Relationships: Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin')/Pico (Pico's School)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 114





	blur your eyes 'til you're floatin' like a butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> BASICALLY. THEYRE GAY.  
> this fandom needs more fics but i get why there aint much

Wasted out of his mind, Pico stumbles into Boyfriend's room to escape the blaring noises erupting from the small house. The guy seriously had the best parties.

He's drunk, too drunk, that when he falls onto the bed and curls his fingers in the fabric of the bedsheets he could barely swallow down what he ate for lunch that day.

Pico was the weird kind of drunk; the crybaby kind. He didn't want to drink too much, but the challenge spilling from Girlfriend's lips had him chugging down the bitter liquids. He sighs, he didn't even win.

Feeling the need to burst into tears, Pico piped up a half-baked lie and ran up to his friend's room. Boyfriend had looked at him curiously but told him to come back because he had something 'that will knock the heart out of your chest' ("isn't it socks and feet?" "Yeah, but it's way cooler to say heart, right!?" "Pfft. Sure.")

He hates these nights, the noise lulling down into a dull throb in the back of his head, kicking the thoughts he'd usually keep there into the vast openess of his mind.

It was barely any help. The memory of blood splattering upon his hands, the ringing of gunshots, children—just like him—falling in heaps of bloodied bodies.

The memories of the school shooting stained the underneath of his nails, the back of his eyelids, the spaces between his fingers, and everything in between.

Strangely enough, when he curls into the bedsheets, taking in a greedy inhale, the tears and frustration and all the ugly emotions felt comforted when he curls into the bedsheets—deep green sweater clashing against plain navy blue dotted with yellow stars.

Pico thinks, _huh._

It had, of course, smelled of Boyfriend. Soft citrus cologne invading his senses. The cologne he had not-so-sneakily bought when Pico wasn't looking when they were out getting food.

Maybe if he were less drunk and pathetic, he would've left right then and there.

Perhaps if he were to consider the consequences and been in a lighter state of mind, he wouldn't have stolen an old white T-shirt from Boyfriend's messy closet and shoved it into his rucksack.

* * *

Boyfriend was currently in a dilemma.

He had _just_ the perfect old T-shirt to use for a super cool and very much awesome DIY.

Pounding hang-over and basking in the afterglow of his cleaning spree after the party and looking forward to trying out one of those DIY things, the sudden misplacing of his T-shirt had his plans spiraling down the drain.

He'd search up, down, left, right. Nothing.

Which made Boyfriend come to this conclusion, _someone stole his goddamn shirt._

He would've called Girlfriend, but about a year or so he'd found her snooping in his room checking for anything illegal (when she might be the one that had done more borderline illegal things, and he's friends with a guy who carries around a gun!)

Like a blessing from the gods in the form of sweet, sweet realization, _Pico._

Pico, he could trust.

"C'mon, c'mon," he scowled at the ringing screen, Pico's profile picture of a tiny green frog on his gun that one rainy afternoon staring at him almost mockingly. "Pick up—"

A slightly hoarse voice rang from the tiny device. "..Hello?"

"Pico! Hey, buddy!"

There was a silence from the other end, only the noises of shoes and rubber remained if he listened really closely—Boyfriend could almost imagine the slight scowl on the other's face as he pulled on his shoes, never was quite the morning person. The mental image made a smile bloom on his features. Cute, in a way.

"You did something bad, didn't you? Did you finally end up murdering—"

Boyfriend whines, he was wrong; Pico wasn't cute at all! "Bastard, you know I wouldn't. But seriously, I do have something to ask."

There was a faint jogging noise—hm? Boyfriend never knew he did exercise outside. A tired huff of air that made him both shudder and worry at the same time, "okay. Spill."

"Do you have any idea where my—"

"Shit, wait—"

A furious knocking at his door made him almost drop his phone.

"Open up," a muffled yell and a series of knocking.

Boyfriend sprang up to his feet and hastily u locks the door. Greeting a slightly tired looking redhead, though he looked much better than he usually did? Maybe it was a good sleep last night for him. "Pico!? Holy shit—why're you here?"

"Good mornin'" he simply says and invites himself into his home, slumping on his couch.

Boyfriend rose a brow as he shut the door. "It's the afternoon.."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Hm," Pico's eyes flash to the side before his cheeks tint a light red. And almost like an inside joke, "guess I slept pretty well last night, huh?"

"Yeah," Boyfriend scoffs, jokingly, joining him on the couch. "Like a fuckin' baby."

Pico snorts, it wasn't cute. Boyfriend still wants to put it in a jar and eat it, though.

"Anyways," the redhead breathes. "What's the thing you wanted to ask me?"

"Have you seen my shirt? Y'know..the old white one with the red circle cross sign—thing?"

* * *

Pico seriously, really seriously, needed to think about the consequences of his actions.

Of course Boyfriend would've found out it was missing, of course Pico knew that. He adored and cared for that shirt like a limb! Even if it was huge on him (even big on Pico, even if he was slightly taller).

The shirt was strung high in it's own box container beneath his bed. A drunker past Pico enjoying the soft material and heavy scent as he was whisked away to sleep. Present Pico on Boyfriend's ratty couch wanted to punch the lights out of his past self.

He was just going to Boyfriend's place because he left his earphones, dammit!

Though he knew it, even his past self knew it, hearing the words slip from Boyfriend's lips had almost made him freeze.

"Your shirt? You still have that one?" Pico asks, although already knowing the answer.

"Duh," Boyfriend waves his hand dismissively. "It was a favorite. Even if it was old now."

The words _it ws a favorite_ felt like a punch in the gut for Pico.

He'd really dug his own grave.

"Plus!" He cries. "I really wanted to do this cool DIY i saw!! If you've seen it, even you'd think it was awesome!"

"Urgh." Pico responds intelligently.

Boyfriend had been obsessing over those tiny life hack videos like a child with anything that sparkles. Using excuses like 'but it's your birthday soon' and 'I felt like it' to hand them off his failed crafts. They all reluctantly accepted the offerings but some had handed them off onto Skid and Pump's hands; the two happily accepting them.

Pico kept the gifts in a small plastic storage within his closet. Even if he acted dumb when Boyfriend asked about them when he came over to his apartment, saying 'I dunno, somewhere in here'.

"Anyways, I think someone stole it! I know you'll say that it might just be lost but believe me I've searched _everywhere!"_

Fuck.

Pico plays with his gun, the tip of his fingers gliding through each and every scratch upon it. "You got any idea who might've wanted your try-hard rotting shirt?"

Boyfriend graciously ignored the jab. "I only host small parties so the suspect list is..just one, actually! The only suspect is Girlfriend."

"Huh? Wasn't she with you that whole night?"

"More or less, yeah. But she kept bringing in food so I guess she could've been stealing my shirt before she brought them in?"

Pico hums. "I suppose,"

"So will you help me!?" Boyfriend pleads, clasping his free hand between his. Suddenly his hands feel sweaty and clammy, fingers unsure.

The older flushes and his gaze wanders over to the to something other than the begging ball of blue all up in his face, and gently swipes his hands off of his own (trying not to take note of the slight disappointment that bloomed on Boyfriend's face). "Well.."

He beams. _"Well?"_

"Nope."

"Pico!"

The redhead grins, placing a finger to his in a mock thinking fashion. "If you make me breakfast, I'll think about it."

"Really!? Aweso— _you haven't eaten breakfast yet?"_

Oh. Pico rubs at the back of his neck. "Ah..I mean..."

Boyfriend frowns, and pulls his left ear angrily.

"Hey—what? Why!?"

"Dumbass!"

Just as he was about to reply with his own string of curses, the younger slaps a hand on his mouth. "I've actually been practicing my cooking! I'm probably even better than you could ever be—no, not probably— DEFINETELY!"

He believes him. "Like hell. Last time you cooked was a disaster—remember last Christmas?"

"Shut up!"

* * *

Pico frowns, standing in front of the huge structure that was apparently a 'house'.

Maybe accepting Boyfriend's request and coming with him here was a bad idea. Because in all honesty what in the fuck was standing before him.

"Never been here before?" Boyfriend asks, picking at the green plant wall and pulling out a shiny silver key from behind long vines and eye-catching flowers, opening the door for the both of them. Well atleast he knew where Girlfriend kept her keys.

He composes himself, swinging his hands at his sides to hopelessly pump himself up. "Nope, 's fine."

Oh but it wasn't fine, the inside of the home was even _worse._

The inside had the atmosphere of an elegant yet casual-like home; high walls and all that jazz Pico could never even dream of. Not too suffocating, unless you are him, of course.

It was cold too. The freeze sneaking it's way underneath the thick fibres of his sweater.

Nothing like his slimy apartment, he almost misses it.

Pico vaguely remembers that Girlfriend's parents and herself is quite stacked.

"Girlfriend!" Pico calls, yet the house only returned his message with a thick silence.

Then Boyfriend unnecessarily holds his wrist, loose enough for his hand to slip into his. Pico flushed, he's an _adult_ for god's sake so _why_ is he blushing like some highschool girl pining after a popular upperclassmen!? He's held many hands!

..Well it has been awhile, he supposed. Attempting and failing to keep his hands from not shaking against the warm palm.

Embarrassing. He was going to skin Boyfriend alive after this. But that would mean acknowledging that he was overwhelmed by another person's hand in his—and so he reluctantly set that idea aside.

"GIRLFRIEND!" Boyfriend yells, pushing Pico back to the present.

"Isn't that too loud?"

The shorter grins cheekily. "Well, maybe you're just not loud _enough."_

Pico rose a brow, challenging. "Really? You have no idea how loud I can be, asshole."

Boyfriend only smiles, a glint in his eyes. And that was that. "Care to demonstrate?"

It all went spiraling to hell after that. Pico can only pray Girlfriend's parents wouldn't put their heads on a pitchfork and roast them over a fire, singing sweet melodies.

"GIRLFRIEEEENDD!!"

"ARE YOU HOME!?"

They scattered, running through the no doubt expensive hallways and opening and shutting every door with a bang.

Now, _this_ felt a bit more comfortable.

Laughter fills the house, almost completely drowning out the noise of a loud thud from Pico's right.

Pico skids to a stop in front of the kitchen doorway taking in the form of Boyfriend in the middle of placing himself on his back upon the floorboards, and succeeding.

He didn't look that hurt. The redhead crouches at his side, hugging his knees together and poking at the other's forehead and lightly presses—before retreating.

"The fuck happened to you?"

"Dunno. Fell—I think." Boyfriend replies with a dumb dorky smile that makes Pico want to leave him there on the floor (maybe a little kiss on the cheek too if he's lucky).

Pico eyes a small glittery stress ball rolling away from them, perhaps that was the reason.

"Idiot," Pico smiles. "Wanna ditch and get ice cream?"

Boyfriend thinks this over with wide eyes, before scrunching his nose with a laugh. "Fine. But we're gonna go and find it tomorrow, right?"

The floorboards are cold. Yet he doesn't feel all that chilly, suddenly. "Sure, whatever."

Pico pulls him up by their hands. It felt more natural this time, more comfortable, more familiar—sweeter, even.

He could get used to this.

* * *

Girlfriend was, of course, nowhere to be found. Not outside and certainly not her own home.

"It's like she just dropped off the face of the planet!" Boyfriend whines, pulls his feet up on the swing as he tightened his grip on the chains, rattling.

Pico hands him a cheap ice pop similar to his from the convenience store a few blocks away and plops himself to the swing seat next to the other. "Honestly? I expected that. You can never really find her unless she's the one lookin' for ya."

The shorter chomps on it, not caring for the slight ache of his teeth from the cold. "How does she do it.."

Pico snorts, taking a taste of the treat; it tastes of salted watermelon (fucking disgusting to the both of them. But disgusting enough for them to be curious of it everytime and wanting to gag everytime they buy them). "We should ask her that next time. I've been meeting so much people now, it's so exhausting."

"Next time?" Boyfriend repeats, hopeful gleam in his eyes. "Then, come with me again—" and offers a slightly curled pinky, _"promise?"_

Pico was quiet for a moment, eyes calculating, breath caught in his lungs. And he laughs. "You a kid or what? Sure, whatever."

It's late in the afternoon, the sun dipping into the high buildings—yet still emitting a bright light against the skies, blinding yellow white stark upon hues of orange to pink to purple. He's here with Boyfriend in an old abandoned rotting playground.

And Pico feels small—so, _so_ small. There's something coiling within him, something that causes his stomach to feel a great surge of warmth gripping his heart in it's hold.

Pico stares at a tiny rocket passing by, causing white clouds to line up in it's wake. Disrupting the colors of the sky above them. But maybe that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

He doesn't know. He never really needed to know anything other than the creak of the swing set and the dripping of his ice cream landing on the ground. And Pico looks up.

"You know," he says.

_"I really like you."_

Realization kicks him over the head and calls him an idiot at the same time he heard Boyfriend's ice cream fall splat on the ground.

"You—you..what? Pico?"

Pico freezes, his gut coiling and the warmth turning into something bad and murky. Making his insides want to die from how bitter it felt. His heart skips a beat, panic flooding his senses.

He turns to him. "I..you must've heard me wrong!"

Boyfriend gives him an unreadable look. "I heard what I heard,"

The taller shakes his head rapidly, and stands up abruptly from the swing. Everything feels dizzy, he almost feels like he was going to drop dead any time soon. "You didn't hear..you didn't. You didn't."

Boyfriend flinches from the sudden spike of his voice, but grabs onto his wrist before Pico could go away—just like he had that night. "Pico, I—"

Suddenly there's a familiar gun staring back at him, barely grazing his forehead; the scratches from use for once, had looked terrifying to him.

_"GET AWAY!"_

And Boyfriend had, but the second his fingers had given away from clinging to the fabric of a green sweater, everything felt wrong. Every muscle in his body flinching like he'd just made the worst decision in his life.

It wasn't supposed to be, but right now—his senses and everything was filled with _Pico, Pico, Pico._

Even if it wasn't supposed to be, maybe it was.

Suddenly, Pico takes in a sharp inhale, his eyes wide enough to possibly fall out of their sockets as his hand shook; finger tightening and loosening before the gun finally fell to the ground. Right next to the fallen ice pop. And Pico's eyes are glassy with tears.

"Hah..No, I didn't mean to—" Pico cuts himself off with another shaky heave of air as he dug his fingers into the side of his head, curling into orange locks. Then, he turns back and runs.

He's gone again. And just like before, Boyfriend couldn't stop him.

* * *

Boyfriend sat on his bed, picking at Pico's gun, tracing every scratch.

He didn't know. He doesn't know. He never knew why Pico acted like that.

Boyfriend wonders if he ever even really knew Pico, and when he tries to remember everything he knew of the latter—it was all basic things. Pico's favorite color, Pico's favorite animal, Pico's favorite fruit, Pico's most despised petpeeves, Pico's bad habits, the way Pico's eyes had sometimes been glazed over—like he was looking at something that was never really there, and everything in between.

He isn't as hopeless as everyone thought he was, in fact, Boyfriend thought himself to have quite the sharp eyes.

He never really knew Pico, did he?

He could pride himself in the small trivias of the older all he wants, but if there's one thing he was most definitely curious about it'd be that.

Boyfriend wasn't the type to step over boundaries, and Pico wasn't the type to speak up. That was it, that was all it was.

The boy slumped himself onto his bed, the gun in his hand was heavy—how long did it take for Pico to get used to it? Why did he bring it everywhere with him? Why did Pico have it? How was he so skilled with handling firearms?

Did Pico truly mean what he said back then? Skin bathed in the soft afternoon glow, the cold breeze tangling with his hair, fingers playing with the swing's chains, pink dusting his face enough for him to spot the translucent freckles dotted along his face, fingers sticky with melted ice cream.

_Did Boyfriend feel the same?_

He doesn't know. That fact makes something within his head pound. Annoying.

Boyfriend places the gun on the bedside table, knocking over a small trinket he'd bought with said redhead about a year ago. A little plastic dolphin statue with stars for eyes and something being said in the bottom text, it had been written in such bad english Pico had bought it before eventually tossing it off to him. He picks it up, and place sit right where it stood before.

But if he did know one thing, he absolutely hated the fact that Pico could be dealing with all this— _whatever this is_ —by himself.

But he can't, no matter how much he tried to get himself to stand and break into Pico's apartment, he couldn't.

He stares up at his ceiling, trying to will away the pure unadulterated _fear_ that struck away the peaceful expression before.

It doesn't work. But maybe it was important, a reminder for him to never let Pico look like that—never again.

Boyfriend's stomach feels like it might just eat itself away with how much it was hurting. But he wasn't hungry, he thinks he lost his appetite long ago.

Maybe if he just hunted down the other last night, if he hadn't left him alone, this wouldn't have happened.

But maybe it was good it happened? God, his brain hurt.

Then, as if lightning stuck his head, he pounced for his phone.

That's right! Thank you for your wonderful and beautiful and absolutely extravagant existence!! He was practically crying tears of joy.

..But perhaps Pico wanted to be left alone?

Boyfriend hastily copies his message of concern and delete it. Only to add a different one.

 **To stop shooting my cups:** _:O?_

Not too long to read and short enough for Pico to hopefully be curious enough to send him a text. Boyfriend was so smart, the older could _never_ see this one coming!

And so, while he waits, he takes a visit down memory lane—specifically by visiting his Pico album (he only had it for blackmail purposes, okay!! Sheesh).

The oldest image was of Pico sitting on a stool cleaning his gun with a faded pink rag, nose scrunched and a troubled look on his face; attempting to scrub away a speck of dirty he'd learn in the future would be something he'd have to live with. The second image was a continuation of that one, a blurry Pico's enraged and pink face yelling curses at him. The tip of Boyfriend's thumb is visible from the corner right.

Most of them were group pictures (Pico stealing his phone and taking a picture of the both of them, flashing a smile and hooking an arm around Boyfriend's shoulders and waving his gun), while some were blurry (a lightly buzzed Pico in a loose sweater he gifted him for Christmas with fairy lights wrapped around his reindeer horns headband in flashes of multiple colors), all kinds of images ranging from okay to bad. Every pixel engraved into his head like a mark.

Boyfriend can't help but treasure every line by tracing them with the pad of his thumb, whether blurry or not.

Pico is a dear friend, obviously, but did he like him enough to love him? Did he even dare to see him in that light again, after their break-up?

"So confusing.." he mutters into the blankets.

It didn't work out the first time they dated—so what would make this time different? What if he never actually changed? What if Pico never changed?

They worked so hard to build this friendship again after the break-up. Boyfriend has always been a bit impulsive, but Pico's trust was nothing to gamble with.

Last night, he thought he had a chance; today even more.

But even if they did think of eachother in that light, it didn't mean they were meant to be.

It already failed once. Not again, not again. No more hurting if they didn't do it again, right?

What made him think that his plan was great that night? He didn't even think of all the things he had to consider—he should've gave it more thought.

They say you should never repeat mistakes, but he wants to so _bad._ He doesn't learn.

Boyfriend cries.

But maybe he wasn't supposed to learn, maybe he was supposed to repeat history—but hope for a better ending. Make sure there'd be an ending that doesn't end him up with a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue.

He wipes his tears away, grabs his things and leaves.

He'll make sure to do better this time.

* * *

He did it.

He actually fucking did it.

Congrats Pico! You've just ruined one of your only bonds!

Pico stumbles into his apartment, locking the door behind him—quietly, slowly. Leaning his forehead into the cool wooden surface of the door.

He moves, feet kicking off his shoes somewhere, socked feet making their way into the bedroom. His feet trip over themselves, falling into the bed and curling into himself. Wallowing in self-pity.

God, he was—

Pico chokes, tears spilling out underneath his lashes. Bites into his bottom lip 'til he could taste just a tang of the iron taste of blood on the tip of his tongue.

—So, so stupid.

He didn't want to do it, it wasn't in his control! It was never in his control, he was never in control. Never in command. Never being the one to make things for himself.

But, maybe that was just an excuse. For the shooting or the confession? He wasn't even sure anymore but he knew he was in guilt either way.

The way it ate up the insides of his chest—leaving him nearly hollow just to fill it up again with it's gooey flurry of emotions, reaching every gap and every corner. Eating away at everything.

Like how it was doing right now.

Pico hates it. Hates feeling this way even if this was the only way he could repent—it was selfish of him, is what he thought.

So what if it was his only choice? So what if he was driven into a corner? He's killed people. People he loved, people he didn't know.

Really, he was awful. Boyfriend was too kind, he'd consider his confession until he died—never even getting to see all the nice enough people for him. People who didn't have blood on their hands no matter how many times they've attempted to scrub it away.

Soap. Rinse. Repeat.

Boyfriend shouldn't even be thinking of loving him.

And Boyfriend should never know, that's why he had broken it off between them back then.

Soap. Rinse. Repeat.

Always the same thing over and over.

But perhaps this was his punishment, it was the least he could do for all the people he'd killed. Bad or not.

Pico is bad. That's how it's always been. He was always born to ruin good.

Soap. Rinse. Repeat.

Pico stands over his sink, faucet water making his clean hands wet.

Not clean enough.

Soap. Rinse. Repeat.

Soap. Rinse. Repeat.

Soap. Rinse. Re—

Pico's vision is overtaken by blotchy blacks as he barely had half the mind to shut off the water before he stumbles, leaning onto the table behind him for support.

He breathed in a shaky inhale, feeling his lungs grow prickly and chest grow small.

_"You okay there, Pico?"_

Phantom arms wrapped around around him over his shoulders in a tight hug. Or maybe it wanted to squeeze tight enough until what little air Pico can get into his system is knocked out of him. His hands tightened their hold on the table.

"Shut up," Pico scowls. "You're not even real."

The arms loosened, before placing it's hands upon his shoulders—huh? When did he start shaking?

 _"But I was,"_ The voice was different now. It's been years since the school shooting, he shouldn't remember their faces so vividly. He still does. He always will. _"Once."_

 _Danger,_ his body screams. _Danger! Kill them before they kill you!_

The first cupboard up on the sink, Pico grabs his gun and clicks off safety and whips around, pointing the gun at where the disembodied voice stood.

Except it wasn't real. It isn't real. They haven't been real for 10 years.

 _"Oh man!"_ It laughs, and it rings in his ears. _"Like you said.. We're not real anymore—so where are you pointing that gun? Have you gone completely mental?"_

Not real. No danger. Pico doesn't feel his muscles stop tensing, still.

Better safe than sorry.

That's right, it was all in his head. It can't hurt him anymore.

 _"Hurt you anymore?"_ the voices, in tune this time, sneered. _"But Pico, you're the one who hurt us."_

Because Pico was always bad, he always had to ruin what was good. That was how it went. That's how it was always meant to be.

* * *

Food tastes bland. He doesn't finish eating it, even when his stomach churned and curled. His taste buds were probably dead.

It didn't matter. Doesn't matter. But it should, it should matter. He's alive—yet what mattered to him was people who were dead. They've been dead for a decade now.

Whoever said time slowly healed the wounds was either a fucking idiot or his wounds are too deep, too damaged, beyond repair. How cliché.

The people he knew are dead. And Pico was left alive. That's all it was.

There was no need to be so hung over it, this is what happened. And nothing can change that.

It doesn't matter that he was so young then, only but a small child who picked up a stray gun and happened to have quite the talent for it. Talent of murdering people with a barrel of bullets.

He was regarded a hero for taking down the shooters. It doesn't taste like a victory, there was no feeling of awe and accomplishment burning in his blood, pure and utter fear; he didn't feel like a hero.

Pico would end up killing someone close to him again, he knows it. A family curse, if you will. His cousins, parents, grandparents had it too. Perhaps in exchange for their natural skill in firearms.

He doesn't want it.

Boyfriend would end up just like what flashed in his mind in between silent moments. Battered, bloodied, scarred. Dead.

He can see it so well too.

And he'd do anything to stop that. That's why he broke them up, but he didn't need to know that. No one has to know that.

Pico thought, maybe he wanted someone to know about it.

Killing is easy; killing his friend even more. The shorter had no battle experience, Pico has murdered people who've been in battle numerous times. Again and again and again and again and again and _one too many times—_

If Boyfriend found out, he'd hate him. Who'd want an actual murderer to be in love with them, after all?

Some murderers like him had gained thicker skin, for the price of their sympathy.

No matter how many years he's done it, he doesn't think he'll ever turn into one of them. If that was a good thing or not, he didn't know.

Pico looks down at his food, something haunting behind his eyes that only he could see. But he knows full well what it was, it was always the same thing over and over.

He slides it away to the other end of the table, ignoring his more rational side yelling at him to atleast put it in the fridge, and tosses it into the waste bin.

Pico doesn't know what he's doing, but he picks up Boyfriend's shirt and falls back onto his bed. Hugging it close to his chest. Before tossing out his shirt and wearing that one instead. It was only for the day.

The voices back down, slowly, one by one. Yet the ache stays, but it feels just a bit comforted by the scent clinging to the fabric.

He shuts his eyes, and drifts away into sweet unconsciousness.

* * *

Pico wakes with a bit of a headache, but it's dull enough to ignore. The type to stay long, though.

He picks up with phone and squints at the bright beam, and hurries to set it to it's lowest.

Sheesh, it was already 11? He slept the day away.

But other than the time, there was another thing in his notifications.

 **From try-hard:** _:O?_

..What the hell?

Pico unwillingly lets a lopsided grin form on his lips, though a bit tired.

He rereads it, again and again until the words are imprinted behind his eyelids.

Should he even reply? It'd be a bit mean not to.

Pico texts out a reply, before deleting it and starting a new, over and over again until he whines and falls back onto his sheets. Covering his face in his hands, god, he felt like some highschool student with a crush.

He was too fucking old for this.

Sadly, the boy doesn't reply, due to not knowing what to reply and not having the single energy to.

Pico stares. And puts it down. Looking up at his ceiling instead.

* * *

He's snapped out of his wallowing with the sound of frantic knocks on his door. Didn't he already receive that package last week?

Pico stands in front of the mirror, he looked like literal shit; but he could barely fix himself beyond dusting off his gray jogging pants and running a hand through his ginger hair.

Pico opens the door—

And his face is bombarded with..flowers?

"I.." Boyfriend says, lowering the bouquet and getting all up in his face instead. He's wearing sweatpants and an old black shirt. "Think you're a huge fucking idiot! An absolute moron!"

"What. What the hell is wrong with you?"

The shorter shoves the flowers into his arms, Pico fumbles but catches it with confusion. And Boyfriend presses his body into his and causes them to fall.

"Ouch.." Pico groans. "Shit. What's up with—"

Boyfriend was just about to apologise, when he looks down at him. Half his face shaded by the moonlight peeking through thin curtains, wide-eyed and cheeks tinted red. Hair obviously unbrushed and wild, his constant eye-bags looked even worse. Dirty floor and a small scar right underneath where he wore his shirt, which was usually covered by the expanse of his sweater. And god, the flowers clashed with his hair color terribly.

Boyfriend thinks he couldn't be anymore perfect, then.

_"Marry me! Please!?"_

Oh fuck. Boyfriend didn't mean to say that.

Pico stares. And blinks. And blinks again.

"WHAT!?"

But perhaps Boyfriend made the right choice.

Pico swallows something that isn't there. And realizes he's still caged between Boyfriend's arms and legs.

"You don't even have a ring," Pico says slowly.

C'mon, c'mon, think of something! Pico begged his brain to work. "The..the flowers, you're crushing them."

"Ah.." Boyfriend says smartly, and releases him from underneath him and sits on the floor in front of him instead. Pico feels his hand grope for his, so he offers it as a reflex, the other seems to be delighted in that; by the way his hand captured his. "Oops. Didn't mean to."

Oh. Whatever.

Suddenly, Boyfriend brightens up and picks the prettiest flower from the bouquet, and ducks his head as he fiddled with it so that Pico couldn't see even if he craned his neck.

"Ta-da!" Boyfriend presents him with a daisy, curled and shaped into a ring. One of those silly flower rings children made for fun. "Skid taught me how to make them a few weeks ago."

Silence is thick in the air. Pico trying and failing to process the fact that he'd just gotten proposed to. Even if it was just a dainty flower ring. And oh god both of them are so red in the face. Boyfriend was wrong, they were both morons.

"So, uh, you got an answer?" Boyfriend coughs.

Pico, repeating his brilliant quote from before, "..urgh.."

"Hey c'mon man!" The shorter sputters, and covers his face with the hand holding the ring he offered. "I literally just proposed!"

"Well that's all on you, you're the one that decided to just—do that shit unprompted!"

 _"Unprompted?"_ Boyfriend repeats. "When are proposals ever prompted, though!?"

"How should I know!" Pico yells, throwing his hands over his head melodramatically. "I've never been proposed to."

Boyfriend suddenly beams. "Wait so I'm the first, then? Oh, awesome!" And clasps both the older's hands in his. Before muttering something about the ring being crushed and holds one of Pico's hands in his, the other still holding up the ring.

Pico turns away from the display. And possibly from exposing the rush of warmth on his face, though he's pretty sure he's already seen it. "Did you think you weren't!?"

"No! As if anyone else would do this!"

"You sayin' no one would wanna marry me!?"

"Noooo," Boyfriend whines, and throws himself over him in a crushing hug. "I meant I would never let them."

Pico buries his face into the space where Boyfriend's shoulder and neck met. "What the hell.. Seriously what the fuck... Are you even hearing yourself right now? WHY AREN'T YOU JUST AS EMBARASSED AS ME—YOU!? God.."

"I am, I am!" Boyfriend admits, pushing them apart but still connected by the way he placed his hands onto his shoulders, giving him a better look at the other.

Teary-eyed, red all the way down underneath his shirt, hair tousled and clothes a bit wrinkly. Pico thinks he looks the same, but Boyfriend somehow made it look good? He must look like a train-wreck compared to him.

"I'm super embarassed!! I DIDN'T EVEN PLAN THIS!!"

"Well that explains the crappy ring,"

Boyfriend looks heartbroken, like Pico had just killed his dog in front of him. Pico couldn't help but feel a pang straight to his heart. "I'm sorry, I'll buy you a better one—one that's plain but still kinda shiny, not too many gems since I know you hate it when things are too flashy!"

"Boyfri—"

"Just—!!" Boyfriend takes in a big inhale, and presents the now crumpled ring again. "Take this, for now! I'll get you a new one this month—no, week!"

"How do you know I'd accept?"

"You told me..you told me before that you loved me but—" Boyfriend bit his tongue. "But even before that, I once asked you if I asked you to marry me you'd say 'yes' right? If I proposed to you. And I did. I did."

They never really spoke of when they had dated.

Pico looks downward, picking at the flowers nervously. He did say that, back when they were younger and dating. Back when he hadn't split them apart because he was so afraid.

The shorter suddenly looks horrified. "Oh, but unless you've not, um, y'know.. _ready_ yet, that's fine too! Just take it and we can get married anytime you feel is right!! Whether it'd be 2 months from now or 7 years later." Boyfriend fretted.

"Oh my god," Pico laughs, pressing his forehead into the other's chest, drowning out the haziness of his head with the thunderous heartbeat beating over and over caged within his ribs. "You're calling dibs."

_"SO WHAT IF I AM?"_

Pico jolts up from the sudden rise in tone. But the other only continues.

"Pico, you..you never tell me anything! I know I never pushed back then but I think I should be pushy now. Because I want to get to know you better, yeah? I want to know every little thing. I should've done this a long time ago when we were dating—but I was so stupid then. I thought I knew everything about you and it's only now that I realized that I never really knew you as much as I believed I did.." Boyfriend takes in a sharp inhale, accidentally letting a few tears slip down his cheeks. He hung his head low, purposefully avoiding Pico's eyes. "And maybe that's why you broke up with me back then."

Boyfriend looks up at him. "I want you to tell me everything."

And that was the end of that.

Pico feels his throat tighten up, constricting the air in his lungs, his stomach churns. He gave up a loud sob, throwing himself into Boyfriend's arms and nuzzling into his shoulder, trying to muffle the sounds of mourning wrecking through his entire body.

Boyfriend does nothing but engulf him into the hug tighter, like he was trying to melt the other into him. God he felt like putty in his arms, maybe he was melting.

He was right. He did want someone to know.

"I've _killed_ people.. I've killed alot of people."

Boyfriend's breath hitches.

His throat was only feeling tighter, the phantom hands wrapping around Pico's pale neck. It isn't real, it feels real.

"I've shot people to death, y'know? They were—they were kids, just about my age. We were 13, I was 13. We were all just having another day in class when suddenly in the drop of a fucking penny, everyone was dead."

Pico sees almost nothing but splotches of dark black in his vision, he shuts his eyes tight. But they don't remove the image of bodies falling into heaps, gunshots ringing in his ears, blood splattering onto a small child's hands; coating then forever in deep reds to blacks.

"We were kids! We were all kids! Those people were my age when they decided to..I dunno, shoot up the whole goddamn school!"

The ginger gasps, and gropes around blindly. He didn't feel safe. Where was his gun? Where was—

"And they left me alive. They killed everyone else and decided to leave me a-alive. I had to kill them, I didn't want to but I had to. Why didn't the police arrive there earlier? They left a fucking kid to deal with a school shooting all by himself. And they congratulated me, for murdering a bunch of children. They called me a hero when I didn't have any other choice—"

"Pico—"

"All because I apparently had a skill for firearms, I was still just a kid. Did they think it was seriously fine to leave a child in possession of those? I found a stray gun, killed people, and they thought it was still okay for me to own them? Fuck, I can't even sleep without a gun near me! I'm a victim, but I'm also a murderer, what does that make me?"

"Pico—"

"It's all so fucking stupid. It's been a _decade_ for god's sake. I should be over it by now. But I'm not, I'm not and I don't think I—" Pico's voice cracks, another sorrowful sob from his dry throat. "Don't think I'll ever get over it. I still see them sometimes, they talk to me and I'd get mad because I know they're not real and I know they're dead but my stupid, stupid brain wants to believe they came back. I'm fucking insane, Boyfriend. I'm so goddamn pathetic that I don't even know what's real or fake anymore—"

_"Pico—!"_

Boyfriend pulls them apart and cradles Pico's face in his hands. Watching as tears slid down his face like a waterfall as he felt his heart shatter into billions of bits.

"You.." Boyfriend says, before feeling sobs being ripped out of his throat as well. He didn't know, he never this was the type of thing his love had dealt with. He was so slow to get here, he wishes he realized sooner.

He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to fix this, Boyfriend hasn't dealt with anything remotely close to Pico's past. He couldn't understand him, no matter what he did.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Pico had that look he wore when he was seeing something that was never really there—the difference now was that Boyfriend knew that what it was, and that it wasn't an _it_ at all. His eyes slowly lost that glazed over look.

"Don't worry, I'd hate it more if you could relate." Pico laughs, brushing off his wellbeing with the shaking of his shoulders and the rumble of his chest. As he always does.

There's nothing he could possibly do, but he wants to help. In any way he could.

"Isn't there anything I can do to help?" Boyfriend pleads, begs.

Pico was silent. Before opening his mouth: "you've helped enough," and smiles.

It feels genuine. Sad, yes, but sincere. It makes Boyfriend feel like he was looking at a completely different side of the older.

"Just—" Pico's face becomes embarassed and heated. "You being here is..enough."

It had been a long time since he had felt safe without the presence of his gun heavy in his hand.

Boyfriend lets a smile bloom on his face, before it turns bittersweet. "Are you sure?I can't understand you, I can't relate to you, I'm so confused—"

"Yes," Pico rolls his eyes fondly. "And like I said, don't worry about that. Plus," he gazes down at his feet and before Boyfriend could process it, he had left a light kiss on his forehead. "You understand more than you think. I mean we're both feeling like this, right?"

_So, so confused. That's what he felt._

But Pico did too. He didn't know why those things happened to him, why those people died. And Boyfriend didn't know why he had waited so long, had let him go those years back and last night and earlier in that old abandoned playground.

"Why did you break-up with me back then?"

Pico bit his lip. "I was convinced you'd eventually do it if you learned about the—uh, the thing."

"What?" Boyfriend shakes his head. "You're much more a dumbass than I thought, Pico."

"Shut it! Well I hadn't exactly told anyone that isn't you so I was super nervous."

The shorter offers a grin. "Well, I'm glad you told me."

Pico returns the smile in full.

It didn't matter who went through shit the most, it wasn't about competition. Just acknowledging his and Pico's burdens are good. It was enough, more than enough. Understanding.

Pico wanted a listening ear, he'd gladly become it.

Boyfriend breathes. _"I love you."_

This time, Pico doesn't fall into an angry spiral at the declaration. "You sure?"

"Yes,"

"Like, really sure?"

"Yes,"

"Super sure?"

"Yes,"

"...Really?"

"Pico."

The redhead bursts into laughter.

"Pico!" Boyfriend suddenly yells, and grabs him by the shoulders. "You haven't even said it back!"

The older simply tilts his head to the side. "Eh?"

"Back then, you only said you 'really liked' me! That's so half-assed." Boyfriend explains.

"Half-assed!?" Pico repeats, indignant. "I poured my soul into that,"

"I know you did!! I loved hearing it. But it's way easier to say love than really like, right?"

Pico huffs, sweat beading from the side of his head as he slowly dipped and kissed him right unto the lips.

Boyfriend hums happily, though a little dazed. "That wasn't what I wanted but thanks."

Pico gives him a peck on the corner of his lip.

"Stop that,"

He smiles sweetly and presses his lips onto his again.

"Stop using that against me!" Boyfriend cries, face almost as red as his hat. And promptly pushes him back and pouts, turning the other cheek to him.

Pico crawls over and pokes his slightly inflated cheek. "Hey, aren't you 21?"

"Whatever. Atleast I'm not the one that said 'oh, Boyfriend! You being here for me is enough! Let's make out!'" and proceeds to make noisy kissing noises.

Pico lets out a noise that was barely human and hides his face into Boyfriend's back. "Fuck. I knew that'd bite me back in the ass!"

"You wanna make out with me _soooo_ bad," Boyfriend accuses, raising a brow, shit eating grin ever present.

The older snorts, pulling himself onto his feet and places a finger to his lip in thought. "Hmm..Do I? Nah, I'm good."

"Wait, what. Where do ya think you're goin'?" Boyfriend asks.

Boyfriend clutches his ankle and Pico falls right on his face, the latter turns his head over to him, kicks his hand away and crawls into a sitting position. "What the hell!? That's the second time."

"Pico, I'm calling dibs, okay?"

The ginger seems to understand. "This again?" He smiles at him shyly, happily. Eyes squinting at the ends, bright. "Okay. _Yes._ Why not?"

Pico slips it on carefully, trying not to pluck another white petal. A bit tight.

It's all clumsy looking and crumpled and ruined. Pico thinks it's beautiful.

Boyfriend whoops, hand grabbing ahold of his shirt and smashes his lips against the other's messily. Teeth clicking and Pico keeps laughing agaisnt the kiss so he swallows those little huffs of air greedily.

God, the warmth filling their lungs with every intake of air and their faces hurt from smiling so much. Eyes still a bit puffy from crying their eyes out earlier.

They never know if what they did was right. If those things didn't happen back in the past, would it ever lead to this? They didn't know, they never know. But maybe it was better they didn't know. Why? Who knows at this point.

No on ever really knows.

Boyfriend gives a lopsided smile.

"Hey, nice shirt."

Pico grins stupidly. "Thanks, stole it from a friend."

"Just a friend? You sure?" Boyfriend pushes.

"Uh-huh," he nods. "A _friend."_

The younger was silent for a moment, before suddenly stripping off his shirt and throwing it over his head and somewhere into Pico's apartment.

"Wha—hey!"

"Looks like your friend will have to come back tomorrow to get his shirts back and bring you back your gun. You did promise, after all! Was a pinky promise too."

Pico covers a laugh with a freckled hand. "Holy shit. You're just a huge fucking dork, huh? You proposed first before you ask me out? And yeah, you better give that one back. One of my favorites."

Boyfriend whines. "Well we did date a few times! I think that counts."

"Wow." Pico scrunches his nose and kisses him dumb.

The smaller grins brightly and peppers every freckle he could see on Pico's face before the latter swats him away tiredly. So Boyfriend holds his hands in his instead. 

"Oh shit!" Boyfriend frantically pats around the two of them, before picking out the poor crumpled flower ring from right next ro his thigh. "Noooo.." he cries, "I'm a terrible fiancé.."

Pico couldn't help but release a loud laugh at this. God, why was he so giggly lately? His laughs sound so fucking love-drunk it's embarassing. "It's cool. I'll just like do those things—what was it called again? Ah wait..flower pressing, I think."

Boyfriend stills looks worried, before his expression suddenly lightened up. "Wait! I think I saw a hack on those things somewhere..they called it—"

The older groans. "Enough with your DIYs!"

"Fine, fine." Boyfriend rolls his eyes. And his face turns scheming. "Just say you love me and I'll drop it!"

"Still on that, huh." Pico clicks his tongue. "We both know you'd never drop your obsession with those videos."

Boyfriend nods. Blue hair becoming even more messy. "I won't! You're right!"

"You actually admitted it!? Then why should I? This is an unfair deal." The redhead jabs. "A scam!"

"C'mon please? Pretty please?"

"What the please looks like doesn't sway me."

_"Picooooooo—"_

"Yes, yes." Pico leaves a kiss to the corner of his lip shyly, and looks him in the eye. "I love you. There, happy now?"

Boyfriend short-circuites. "Again?"

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you."

"Again—"

Pico pulls his cheek. "Nope! That's enough for now. Plus your shirtless and you left the door open and it's like winter out there. Go get some clothes."

Boyfriend huffs. "Boo..." But leaves to stand anyways and stalks over to the bedroom.

"Hey the shirt you threw is right over there!"

"No! Don't want it!"

"Boyfri—"

And he shuts the door.

* * *

Moving around in Pico's room is easy, because he never was a fan of redecorating and Boyfriend has spent enough time here to memorize the outlines of everything with the small room.

He approached the closet and filters through, before picking out a short-sleeved green shirt with interest. Pico almost never wore anything without long sleeves. And throws it over his head with a hum.

Boyfriend smiles, inhaling the scent and leaving.

The fact that Pico even owned something without long sleeves was a bit small compared t what he had jsut learnt of him earlier. But it was knowing something new nonetheless.

And he appreciates every little thing he's given. Storing it into a box within his mind.

* * *

"I'M BACK!"

Boyfriend tackles an unknowing Pico who had just shut the front door.

Pico laughs, before attempting to wiggle his front body to face the other—but sadly has to crane his neck to face him instead. "Hey, c'mon, dude I can't move. The door is right in front of me."

"I don't mind!" Boyfriend answers.

"Well _I_ mind." He says and pries off Boyfriend's arms to face his body towards him, the shorter hugs him again almost immediately.

Boyfriend grins and digs his face into Pico's shoulder, leaving a small kiss there and delighting in the airy laugh that escaped latter's lips.

"Y'know, last night during the party. I was going to tell everyone there that I loved you. But you weren't there, guess I know now what you were doing then, ya thief."

Pico opens his mouth, before shutting it again. Letting Boyfriend continue.

"I was gonna make it big—loud! I'd be standing on the tables, yelling at everyone I called dibs on you and then we'd make out in front of them. I paid Girlfriend to cry."

Pico bursts into peels of laughter, holding his back by the hands on his shoulders and facing him. "Seriously? We'd just make out in front of them was your big plan at the time? Payed who now?"

"In my defense, I was drunk as shit then!" Boyfriend says.

The ginger's laughter slowly died down, and his face grows a bit worried. "Are you fine, though? That your big plan ended up like this? That this was how we got back together?"

"What?" Boyfriend sputters. "Never! I'm glad we got back. Even if it wasn't according to what I had planned. Actually, I think this is way better."

"Yeah?"

Boyfriend nods, a sincere grin lifting from his lips. "Yeah."

Pico places a kiss on his forehead, a moment of distraction and he's slipped away from the little space he had given him, and grips his wrist.

The man blinks, now suddenly being dragged to the other's will. "Huh?"

"Didn't you look at this time? It's like 2 in the morning! Also how'd you even get those flowers anyways? And we're going to bed."

Boyfriend rubs his nape shyly. "Well I uh, made it! Kinda of broke into my neighbor's yard and stole his flowers..then wrapped it in plastic with a pink ribbon and a safety pin."

"What?" Pico snorts. "Seriously? I'll put in a jar then,"

The taller lets go of him and picks up the discarded flowers. And fills a particularly large jar with water and gently places it in. Was this how people did it?

Boyfriend suddenly grabs his hand the second he'd finished. "Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

"What's got you so excited? It's just sleeping." Pico rose a brow, but let the younger pull him into his own room.

"But it's sleeping with you."

"Cheesy," Pico says.

Boyfriend groans. "Let me win dammit!"

"Never." He says kindly. "We've slept together— _stop that, I don't mean it like that_ —a few times back then."

"It's been a long time! That was like, when I was 19!"

Pico shrugs. "I guess,"

Boyfriend pushes him onto the bed and lies down next to him, letting out a little sigh of happiness.

"So you're just inviting yourself into another person's bed?" Pico jabs.

Boyfriend shakes his head, looking at him in the eye. "Not just anyone's," and gives a wide grin that has his eyes squint. "My fiancé's!"

"Oh," Pico says smartly, and a blush lightens up his face. He pulls his fiancé (?) close to his chest, hands curling in his hair. "Have fun, then."

He feels Boyfriend's lips split into a smile, and suddenly he's on the brink of falling asleep, not yet though. Nuzzling into his chest.

"Pico,"

"Yeah?"

"Pico,"

"Mhm.."

"Are you happy?"

Pico's hands unraveling the knots in his hair suddenly halted.

_Was he?_

Even after all of that, the shooting, could he even dare to be? The guilt of it, the mourning. How the feeling of sadness crept at him, big and horrifying. Or sometimes it's small, but he never knows when it'll hit him, those always hurt just as much as the big ones.

Right now, though, the anger and sadness feels tamed. It wasn't coiling and making him want to hang his head over the toilet and vomit, or aching in his head.

He doesn't know. He never knows.

But maybe right now—

_"Yes."_

Maybe he was.

Boyfriend smiles up at him, bright and loving, Pico wonders if he deserves it. "Oh! Good!"

Maybe it didn't really matter if he deserved it, maybe nothing else really matters. Nothing else other than the happy thrums of his heartstrings and the image of Boyfriend warm under his blanket, breathing air into his neck that raised small goosebumps along his arms.

He's always questioning things, he's tired. For now, he just wants to lay in bed with his new fiancé. Running fingers through his electric blue hair and playfully chomping on his forehead.

"Hey," Pico calls.

"Hi!"

"I love you."

Boyfriend yawns, and just before he passed out like a blink of light, he leaves him a peck on the lips. "Love you too."

And Pico smiles.

Tomorrow, if Boyfriend didn't have anything planned, he'd take them to the new carnival in town. Pico would try to get him souvenirs in those rigged stalls, Boyfriend would drag him into riding barf-worthy rides, and maybe even take a small walk through the city as a break.

Damn, talk about sappy.

Sleep never came easy for him, but Pico finds himself dozing off just as quick.

He has a date tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to manilovefunkin for spending 12 hours straight brainrotting with me about otis >:3c ill prolly be posting smth with him some time after this! i do have my fan weeks to do ughhhbsbs
> 
> thanks for reading!!
> 
> http://kebab-skewer.tumblr.com my tumblr!
> 
> if you know what song the title lyrics are from please comment that u do and i will give u the biggest kiss i swear


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